"Buenas noches!" returned the man in a gruff voice.

We stole cautiously along the streets, keeping in the darker ones to avoid observation. The citizens were mostly in their beds; but groups of soldiers were straggling about, and patrols met us at every corner.

It became necessary to pass through one of the streets that was brilliantly lighted. When about half-way up it a fellow came swinging along, and, noticing our strange appearance, stopped and looked after us.

Our dresses, as I have said, were of leather; our calzoneros, as well as jackets, were shining with the sea-water, and dripping upon the pavement at every step.

Before we could walk beyond reach, the man shouted out:

"Carajo! caballeros, why don't you strip before entering the bano?"

"What is it?" cried a soldier, coming up and stopping us.

A group of his comrades joined him, and we were hurried into the light.

"Mil diablos!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, recognising Raoul; "our old friend the Frenchman! Parlez-vous francais, Monsieur?"

"Spies!" cried another.

"Arrest them!" shouted a sergeant of the guard, at the moment coming up with a patrol, and we were both jumped upon and held by about a dozen men.

In vain Raoul protested our innocence, declaring that we were only two poor fishermen, who had wet our clothes in drawing the nets.

"It's not a fisherman's costume, Monsieur," said one.

"Fishermen don't usually wear diamonds on their knuckles," cried another, snatching a ring from my finger.

On this ring, inside the circlet, were engraven my name and rank!

Several men, now coming forward, recognised Raoul, and stated, moreover, that he had been missing for some days.

"He must, therefore," said they, "have been with the Yankees."

We were soon handcuffed and marched off to the guard-prison. There we were closely searched, but nothing further was found, except my purse containing several gold eagles—an American coin that of itself would have been sufficient evidence to condemn me.

We were now heavily chained to each other, after which the guard left us to our thoughts. They could not have left us in much less agreeable companionship.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

HELP FROM HEAVEN.

"I would not care a claco for my own life," said Raoul, as the gate closed upon us, "but that you, Captain—helas! helas!" and the Frenchman groaned and sank upon the stone bench, dragging me down also.

I could offer no consolation. I knew that we should be tried as spies; and, if convicted—a result almost certain—we had not twenty hours to live. The thought that I had brought this brave fellow to such a fate enhanced the misery of my situation. To die thus ingloriously was bitter indeed. Three days ago I could have spent my life recklessly; but now, how changed were my feelings! I had found something worth living to enjoy; and to think I should never again—"Oh! I have become a coward!" I cursed my rashness bitterly.

We passed the night in vain attempts at mutual consolation. Even our present sufferings occupied us. Our clothes were wet through, and the night had become piercingly cold. Our bed was a bench of stone; and upon this we lay as our chains would allow us, sleeping close together to generate warmth. It was to us a miserable night; but morning came at last, and at an early hour we were examined by the officer of the guard.

Our court-martial was fixed for the afternoon, and before this tribunal we were carried, amidst the jeers of the populace. We told our story, giving the name of the boy Narcisso, and the house where he was lodged. This was verified by the court, but declared to be a ruse invented by my comrade—whose knowledge of the place and other circumstances rendered the thing probable enough. Raoul, moreover, was identified by many of the citizens, who proved his disappearance coincident with the landing of the American expedition. Besides, my ring and purse were sufficient of themselves to condemn us—and condemned we were. We were to be garrotted on the following morning!

Raoul was offered life if he would turn traitor and give information of the enemy. The brave soldier indignantly spurned the offer. It was extended to me, with a similar result.

All at once I observed a strange commotion among the people. Citizens and soldiers rushed from the hall, and the court, hastily pronouncing our sentence, ordered us to be carried away. We were seized by the guard, pulled into the street, and dragged back towards our late prison. Our conductors were evidently in a great hurry. As we passed along we were met by citizens running to and fro, apparently in great terror— women and children uttering shrieks and suddenly disappearing behind walls and battlements. Some fell upon their knees, beating their breasts and praying loudly. Others, clasping their infants, stood shivering and speechless.

"It is just like the way they go in an earthquake," remarked Raoul, "but there is none. What can it be, Captain?"

Before I could reply, the answer came from another quarter.

Far above, an object was hissing and hurtling through the air.

"A shell from ours! Hurrah!" cried Raoul.

I could scarcely refrain from cheering, though we ourselves might be the victims of the missile.

The soldiers who were guarding us had flung themselves down behind walls and pillars, leaving us alone in the open street!

The bomb fell beyond us, and, striking the pavement, burst. The fragments went crashing through the side of an adjoining house; and the wail that came back told how well the iron messengers had done their work. This was the second shell that had been projected from the American mortars. The first had been equally destructive; and hence the extreme terror of both citizen and soldier. Every missile seemed charged with death.

Our guard now returned and dragged us onward, treating us with increased brutality. They were enraged at the exultation visible in our manner; and one, more ferocious than the rest, drove his bayonet into the fleshy part of my comrade's thigh. After several like acts of inhumanity, we were thrown into our prison and locked up as before.

Since our capture we had tasted neither food nor drink, and hunger and thirst added to the misery of our situation.

The insult had maddened Raoul, and the pain of his wound now rendered him furious. He had not hands to touch it or dress it. Frenzied by anger and pain to a strength almost superhuman, he twisted off his iron manacles, as if they had been straws. This done, the chain that bound us together was soon broken, and our ankle "jewellery" followed.

"Let us live our last hours, Captain, as we have our lives, free and unfettered!"

I could not help admiring the spirit of my brave comrade.

We placed ourselves close to the door and listened.

We could hear the heavy cannonade all around, and now and then the distant shots from the American batteries. We would wait for the bursting of the bombs, and, as the hoarse thunder of crumbling walls reached our ears, Raoul would spring up, shouting his wild, half-French, half-Indian cries.

A thought occurred to me.

"We have arms, Raoul." I held up the fragments of the heavy chain that had yoked us. "Could you reach the trap on a run, without the danger of mistaking your way?"

Raoul started.

"You are right, Captain—I can. It is barely possible they may visit us to-night. If so, any chance for life is better than none at all."

By a tacit understanding each of us took a fragment of the chain—there were but two—and sat down by the door to be ready in case our guards should open it. We sat for over an hour, without exchanging a word. We could hear the shells as they burst upon the housetops, the crashing of torn timbers, and the rumbling of walls rolling over, struck by the heavy shot. We could hear the shouts of men and the wailing of women, with now and then a shriek louder than all others, as some missile carried death into the terror-struck crowd.

"Sacre!" said Raoul; "if they had only allowed us a couple of days, our friends would have opened these doors for us. Sacr-r-r-e!"

This last exclamation was uttered in a shriek. Simultaneously a heavy object burst through the roof, tearing the bricks and plaster, and falling with the ring of iron on the floor.

Then followed a deafening crash. The whole earth seemed to shake, and the whizzing of a thousand particles filled the air. A cloud of dust and lime, mixed with the smoke of sulphur, was around us. I gasped for breath, nearly suffocated. I endeavoured to cry out, but my voice, husky and coarse, was scarcely audible to myself. I succeeded at length in ejaculating:

"Raoul! Raoul!"

I heard the voice of my comrade, seemingly at a great distance. I threw out my arms and groped for him. He was close by me, but, like myself, choking for want of air.

"It was a shell," said he, in a wheezing voice, "Are you hurt, Captain?"

"No," I replied; "and you?"

"Sound as a bell—our luck is good—it must have struck every other part of the cell."

"Better it had not missed us," said I, after a pause; "we are only spared for the garrotte."

"I am not so sure of that, Captain," replied my companion, in a manner that seemed to imply he had still hopes of an escape.

"Where that shell came in," he continued, "something else may go out. Let us see—was it the roof?"

"I think so."

We groped our way hand in hand towards the centre of the room, looking upwards.

"Peste!" ejaculated Raoul; "I can't see a foot before me—my eyes are filled—bah!"

So were mine. We stood waiting. The dust was gradually settling down, and we could perceive a faint glimmer from above. There was a large hole through the roof!

Slowly its outlines became defined, and we could see that it was large enough to pass the body of a man; but it was at least fourteen feet from the floor, and we had not timber enough to make a walking-stick!

"What is to be done? We are not cats, Raoul. We can never reach it!"

My comrade, without making a reply, lifted me up in his arms, telling me to climb. I mounted upon his shoulders, balancing myself like a Bedouin; but with my utmost stretch I could not touch the roof.

"Hold!" cried I, a thought striking me. "Let me down, Raoul. Now, if they will only give us a little time."

"Never fear for them; they've enough to do taking care of their own yellow carcases."

I had noticed that a beam of the roof formed one side of the break, and I proceeded to twist our handcuffs into a clamp, while Raoul peeled off his leather breeches and commenced, tearing them into strips. In ten minutes our "tackle" was ready, and, mounting upon my comrade's shoulders, I flung it carefully at the beam. It failed to catch, and I came down to the floor, my balance being lost in the effort. I repeated the attempt. Again it failed, and I staggered down as before.

"Sacre!" cried Raoul through his teeth. The iron had struck him on the head.

"Come, we shall try and try—our lives depend upon it."

The third attempt, according to popular superstition, should be successful. It was so with us. The clamp caught, and the string hung dangling downwards. Mounting again upon my comrade's shoulders, I grasped the thong high up to test its hold. It was secure; and, cautioning Raoul to hold fast lest the hook might be detached by my vibration, I climbed up and seized hold of the beam. By this I was enabled to squeeze myself through the roof.

Once outside I crawled cautiously along the azotea, which, like all others in Spanish houses, was flat, and bordered by a low parapet of mason-work. I peeped over this parapet, looking down into the street. It was night, and I could see no one below; but up against the sky, upon distant battlements, I could distinguish armed soldiers busy around their guns. These blazed forth at intervals, throwing their sulphureous glare over the city.

I returned to assist Raoul, but, impatient of my delay, he had already mounted, and was dragging up the thong after him.

We crawled from roof to roof, looking for a dark spot to descend into the street. None of the houses in the range of our prison were more than one story high, and, after passing several, we let ourselves down into a narrow alley. It was still early, and the people were running to and fro, amidst the frightful scenes of the bombardment. The shrieks of women were in our ears, mingled with the shouts of men, the groans of the wounded, and the fierce yelling of an excited rabble. The constant whizzing of bombs filled the air, and parapets were hurled down. A round-shot struck the cupola of a church as we passed nearly under it, and the ornaments of ages came tumbling down, blocking up the thoroughfare. We clambered over the ruins and went on. There was no need of our crouching into dark shadows. No one thought of observing us now.

"We are near the house—will you still make the attempt to take him along?" inquired Raoul, referring to the boy Narcisso.

"By all means! Show me the place," replied I, half-ashamed at having almost forgotten, in the midst of our own perils, the object of our enterprise.

Raoul pointed to a large house with portals and a great door in the centre.

"There, Captain—there it is."

"Go under that shadow and wait. I shall be better alone."

This was said in a whisper. My companion did as directed.

I approached the great door and knocked boldly.

"Quien?" cried the porter within the saguan.

"Yo," I responded.

The door was opened slowly and with caution.

"Is the Senorito Narcisso within?" I inquired.

The man answered in the affirmative.

"Tell him a friend wishes to speak with him."

After a moment's hesitation the porter dragged himself lazily up the stone steps. In a few seconds the boy—a fine, bold-looking lad, whom I had seen during our trial—came leaping down. He started on recognising me.

"Hush!" I whispered, making signs to him to be silent. "Take leave of your friends, and meet me in ten minutes behind the church of La Magdalena."

"Why, Senor," inquired the boy without listening, "how have you got out of prison? I have just been to the governor on your behalf, and—."

"No matter how," I replied, interrupting him; "follow my directions— remember your mother and sisters are suffering."

"I shall come," said the boy resolutely.

"Hasta luego!" (Lose no time then). "Adios!"

We parted without another word. I rejoined Raoul, and we walked on towards La Magdalena. We passed through the street where we had been captured on the preceding night, but it was so altered that we should not have known it. Fragments of walls were thrown across the path, and here and there lay masses of bricks and mortar freshly torn down.

Neither patrol nor sentry thought of troubling us now, and our strange appearance did not strike the attention of the passengers.

We reached the church, and Raoul descended, leaving me to wait for the boy. The latter was true to his word, and his slight figure soon appeared rounding the corner. Without losing a moment we all three entered the subterranean passage, but the tide was still high, and we had to wait for the ebb. This came at length, and, clambering over the rocks, we entered the surf and waded as before. After an hour's toil we reached Punta Hornos, and a little beyond this point I was enabled to hail one of our own pickets, and to pass the lines in safety.

At ten o'clock I was in my own tent—just twenty-four hours from the time I had left it, and, with the exception of Clayley, not one of my brother officers knew anything of our adventure.

Clayley and I agreed to "mount" a party the next night and carry the boy to his friends. This we accordingly did, stealing out of camp after tattoo. It would be impossible to describe the rejoicing of our new acquaintances—the gratitude lavishly expressed—the smiles of love that thanked us.

We should have repeated our visits almost nightly; but from that time the guerilleros swarmed in the back-country, and small parties of our men, straggling from camp, were cut off daily. It was necessary, therefore, for my friend and myself to chafe under a prudent impatience, and wait for the fall of Vera Cruz.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A SHOT IN THE DARK.

The "City of the True Cross" fell upon the 29th of March, 1847, and the American flag waved over the castle of San Juan de Ulloa. The enemy's troops marched out upon parole, most of them taking their way to their distant homes upon the table-lands of the Andes.

The American garrison entered the town, but the body of our army encamped upon the green plains to the south.

Here we remained for several days, awaiting the order to march into the interior.

A report had reached us that the Mexican forces, under the celebrated Santa Anna, were concentrating at Puente Nacional; but shortly after it was ascertained that the enemy would make his next stand in the pass of the Cerro Gordo, about half-way between Vera Cruz and the mountains.

After the surrender of the city we were relieved from severe duty, and Clayley and I, taking advantage of this, resolved upon paying another stolen visit to our friends.

Several parties of light horse had been sent out to scour the country, and it had been reported that the principal guerilla of the enemy had gone farther up towards the Puente Nacional. We did not, therefore, anticipate any danger from that source.

We started after nightfall, taking with us three of our best men— Lincoln, Chane, and Raoul. The boy Jack was also of the party. We were mounted on such horses as could be had. The major had kept his word with me, and I bestrode the black—a splendid thoroughbred Arab.

It was a clear moonlight, and as we rode along we could not help noticing many changes.

War had left its black mark upon the objects around. The ranchos by the road were tenantless—many of them wrecked, not a few of them entirely gone; where they had stood, a ray of black ashes marking the outline of their slight walls. Some were represented by a heap of half-burned rubbish still smoking and smouldering.

Various pieces of household furniture lay along the path torn or broken—articles of little value, strewed by the wanton hand of the ruthless robber. Here a petate, or a palm hat—there a broken olla; a stringless bandolon, the fragments of a guitar crushed under the angry heel, or some flimsy articles of female dress cuffed into the dust; leaves of torn books—misas, or lives of the Santisima Maria—the labours of some zealous padre; old paintings of the saints, Guadalupe, Remedios, and Dolores—of the Nino of Guatepec—rudely torn from the walls and perforated by the sacrilegious bayonet, flung into the road, kicked from foot to foot—the dishonoured penates of a conquered people.

A painful presentiment began to harass me. Wild stories had lately circulated through the army—stories of the misconduct of straggling parties of our soldiers in the back-country. These had stolen from camp, or gone out under the pretext of "beef-hunting."

Hitherto I had felt no apprehension, not believing that any small party would carry their foraging to so distant a point as the house of our friends. I knew that any detachment, commanded by an officer, would act in a proper manner; and, indeed, any respectable body of American soldiers, without an officer. But in all armies, in war-time, there are robbers, who have thrown themselves into the ranks for no other purpose than to take advantage of the licence of a stolen foray.

We were within less than a league of Don Cosme's rancho, and still the evidence of ruin and plunder continued—the evidence, too, of a retaliatory vengeance; for on entering a glade, the mutilated body of a soldier lay across the path. He was upon his back, with open eyes glaring upon the moon. His tongue and heart were cut out, and his left arm had been struck off at the elbow-joint. Not ten steps beyond this we passed another one, similarly disfigured. We were now on the neutral ground.

As we entered the forest my forebodings became painfully oppressive. I imparted them to Clayley. My friend had been occupied with similar thoughts.

"It is just possible," said he, "that nobody has found the way. By heavens!" he added, with an earnestness unusual in his manner, "I have been far more uneasy about the other side—those half-brigands and that villain Dubrosc."

"On! on!" I ejaculated, digging the spurs into the flanks of my horse, who sprang forward at a gallop.

I could say no more. Clayley had given utterance to my very thoughts, and a painful feeling shot through my heart.

My companions dashed after me, and we pressed through the trees at a reckless pace.

We entered an opening. Raoul, who was then riding in the advance, suddenly checked his horse, waving on us to halt. We did so.

"What is it, Raoul?" I asked in a whisper.

"Something entered the thicket, Captain."

"At what point?"

"There, to the left;" and the Frenchman pointed in this direction. "I did not see it well; it might have been a stray animal."

"I seed it, Cap'n," said Lincoln, closing up; "it wur a mustang."

"Mounted, think you?"

"I ain't confident; I only seed its hips. We were a-gwine too fast to get a good sight on the critter; but it wur a mustang—I seed that cl'ar as daylight."

I sat for a moment, hesitating.

"I kin tell yer whether it wur mounted, Cap'n," continued the hunter, "if yer'll let me slide down and take a squint at the critter's tracks."

"It is out of our way. Perhaps you had better," I added, after a little reflection. "Raoul, you and Chane dismount and go with the sergeant. Hold their horses, Jack."

"If yer'll not object, Cap'n," said Lincoln, addressing me in a whisper, "I'd rayther go 'ithout kump'ny. Thar ain't two men I'd like, in a tight fix, better'n Rowl and Chane; but I hev done a smart chance o' trackin' in my time, an' I allers gets along better when I'm by myself."

"Very well, Sergeant; as you wish it, go alone. We shall wait for you."

The hunter dismounted, and having carefully examined his rifle, strode off in a direction nearly opposite to that where the object had been seen.

I was about to call after him, impatient to continue our journey; but, reflecting a moment, I concluded it was better to leave him to his "instincts". In five minutes he had disappeared, having entered the chaparral.

We sat in our saddles for half an hour, not without feelings of impatience. I was beginning to fear that some accident had happened to our comrade, when we heard the faint crack of a rifle, but in a direction nearly opposite to that which Lincoln had taken.

"It's the sergeant's rifle, Captain," said Chane.

"Forward!" I shouted; and we dashed into the thicket in the direction whence the report came.

We had ridden about a hundred yards through the chaparral, when we met Lincoln coming up, with his rifle shouldered.

"Well?" I asked.

"'Twur mounted, Cap'n—'tain't now."

"What do you mean, Sergeant?"

"That the mustang hed a yeller-belly on his back, and that he hain't got ne'er a one now, as I knows on. He got cl'ar away from me—that is, the mustang. The yeller-belly didn't."

"What! you haven't—?"

"But I hev, Cap'n. I had good, soun' reason."

"What reason?" I demanded.

"In the first place, the feller wur a gurillye; and in the next, he wur an outpost picket."

"How know you this?"

"Wal, Cap'n, I struck his trail on the edge of the thicket. I knowed he hedn't kum fur, as I looked out for sign whar we crossed the crik bottom, an' seed none. I tuk the back track, an' soon come up with him under a big button-wood. He had been thar some time, for the ground wur stamped like a bullock-pen."

"Well?" said I, impatient to hear the result.

"I follered him up till I seed him leanin' for'ard on his horse, clost to the track we oughter take. From this I suspicioned him; but, gettin' a leetle closter, I seed his gun an' fixin's strapped to the saddle. So I tuk a sight, and whumelled him. The darned mustang got away with his traps. This hyur's the only thing worth takin' from his carcage: it wudn't do much harm to a grizzly b'ar."

"Good heaven!" I exclaimed, grasping the glittering object which the hunter held towards me; "what have you done?"

It was a silver-handled stiletto. I recognised the weapon. I had given it to the boy Narcisso.

"No harm, I reckin, Cap'n?"

"The man—the Mexican? How did he look?—what like?" I demanded anxiously.

"Like?" repeated the hunter. "Why, Cap'n, I 'ud call him as ugly a skunk as yer kin skeer up any whar—'ceptin' it mout be among the Digger Injuns; but yer kin see for yurself—he's clost by."

I leaped from my horse, and followed Lincoln through the bushes. Twenty paces brought us to the object of our search, upon the border of a small glade. The body lay upon its back, where it had been flung by the rearing mustang. The moon was shining full upon the face. I stooped down to examine it. A single glance was sufficient. I had never seen the features before. They were coarse and swart, and the long black locks were matted and woolly. He was a zambo; and, from the half-military equipments that clung around his body, I saw that he had been a guerillero. Lincoln was right.

"Wal, Cap'n," said he, after I had concluded my examination of the corpse, "ain't he a picter?"

"You think he was waiting for us?"

"For us or some other game—that's sartin."

"There's a road branches off here to Medellin," said Raoul, coming up.

"It could not have been for us: they had no knowledge of our intention to come out."

"Possibly enough, Captain," remarked Clayley in a whisper to me. "That villain would naturally expect us to return here. He will have learned all that has passed: Narcisso's escape—our visits. You know he would watch night and day to trap either of us."

"Oh, heavens!" I exclaimed, as the memory of this man came over me; "why did I not bring more men? Clayley, we must go on now. Slowly, Raoul—slowly, and with caution—do you hear."

The Frenchman struck into the path that led to the rancho, and rode silently forward. We followed in single file, Lincoln keeping a look-out some paces in the rear.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

CAPTURED BY GUERILLEROS.

We emerged from the forest and entered the fields. All silent. No sign or sound of a suspicion. The house still standing and safe.

"The guerillero must have been waiting for someone whom he expected by the Medellin road. Ride on, Raoul!"

"Captain," said the man in a whisper, and halting at the end of the guardaraya (enclosure).

"Well?"

"Someone passed out at the other end."

"Some of the domestics, no doubt. You may ride on, and—never mind; I will take the advance myself."

I brushed past, and kept up the guardaraya. In a few minutes we had reached the lower end of the pond, where we halted. Here we dismounted; and, leaving the men, Clayley and I stole cautiously forward. We could see no one, though everything about the house looked as usual.

"Are they abed, think you?" asked Clayley.

"No, it is too early—perhaps below, at supper."

"Heaven send! we shall be most happy to join them. I am as hungry as a wolf."

We approached the house. Still all silent.

"Where are the dogs?"

We entered.

"Strange!—no one stirring. Ha! the furniture gone!"

We passed into the porch in the rear, and approached the stairway.

"Let us go below—can you see any light?"

I stooped and looked down. I could neither hear nor see any signs of life. I turned, and was gazing up at my friend in wonderment, when my eye was attracted by a strange movement upon the low branches of the olive-trees. The next moment a dozen forms dropped to the ground; and, before we could draw sword or pistol, myself and comrade were bound hand and foot and flung upon our backs.

At the same instant we heard a scuffle down by the pond. Two or three shots were fired; and a few minutes after a crowd of men came up, bringing with them Chane, Lincoln, and Raoul as prisoners.

We were all dragged out into the open ground in front of the rancho, where our horses were also brought and picketed.

Here we lay upon our backs, a dozen guerilleros remaining to guard us. The others went back among the olives, where we could hear them laughing, talking, and yelling. We could see nothing of their movements, as we were tightly bound, and as helpless as if under the influence of nightmare.

As we lay, Lincoln was a little in front of me. I could perceive that they had doubly bound him in consequence of the fierce resistance he had made. He had killed one of the guerilleros. He was banded and strapped all over, like a mummy, and he lay gnashing his teeth and foaming with fury. Raoul and the Irishman appeared to take things more easily, or rather more recklessly.

"I wonder if they are going to hang us to-night, or keep us till morning? What do you think, Chane?" asked the Frenchman, laughing as he spoke.

"Be the crass! they'll lose no time—ye may depind on that same. There's not an ounce av tinder mercy in their black hearts; yez may swear till that, from the way this eel-skin cuts."

"I wonder, Murt," said Raoul, speaking from sheer recklessness, "if Saint Patrick couldn't help us a bit. You have him round your neck, haven't you?"

"Be the powers, Rowl! though ye be only jokin', I've a good mind to thry his holiness upon thim. I've got both him and the mother undher me jacket, av I could only rache thim."

"Good!" cried the other. "Do!"

"It's aisy for ye to say 'Do', when I can't budge so much as my little finger."

"Never mind. I'll arrange that," answered Raoul. "Hola, Senor!" shouted he to one of the guerilleros.

"Quien?" (Who?) said the man, approaching.

"Usted su mismo," (Yourself), replied Raoul.

"Que cosa?" (What is it?)

"This gentleman," said Raoul, still speaking in Spanish, and nodding towards Chane, "has a pocket full of money."

A hint upon that head was sufficient; and the guerilleros, who, strangely enough, seemed to have overlooked this part of their duty, immediately commenced rifling our pockets, ripping them open with their long knives. They were not a great deal the richer for their pains, our joint purse yielding about twenty dollars. Upon Chane there was no money found; and the man whom Raoul had deceived repaid the latter by a curse and a couple of kicks.

The saint, however, turned up, attached to the Irishman's neck by a leathern string; and along with him a small crucifix, and a pewter image of the Virgin Mary.

This appeared to please the guerilleros; and one of them, bending over the Irishman, slackened his fastenings a little—still, however, leaving him bound.

"Thank yer honner," said Chane; "that's dacent of ye. That's what Misther O'Connell wud call amaylioration. I'm a hape aysier now."

"Mucho bueno," said the man, nodding and laughing.

"Och, be my sowl, yes!—mucho bueno. But I'd have no objecshun if yer honner wud make it mucho bettero. Couldn't ye just take a little turn aff me wrist here?—it cuts like a rayzyer."

I could not restrain myself from laughing, in which Clayley and Raoul joined me; and we formed a chorus that seemed to astonish our captors. Lincoln alone preserved his sullenness. He had not spoken a word.

Little Jack had been placed upon the ground near the hunter. He was but loosely tied, our captors not thinking it worth while to trouble themselves about so diminutive a subject. I had noticed him wriggling about, and using all his Indian craft to undo his fastenings; but he appeared not to have succeeded, as he now lay perfectly still again.

While the guerilleros were occupied with Chane and his saints, I observed the boy roll himself over and over, until he lay close up against the hunter. One of the guerilleros, noticing this, picked Jack up by the waistbelt, and, holding him at arm's length, shouted out:

"Mira, camarados! qui briboncito!" (Look, comrades! what a little rascal!)

Amidst the laughing of the guerilleros, Jack was swung out, and fell in a bed of shrubs and flowers, where we saw no more of him. As he was bound, we concluded that he could not help himself, and was lying where he had been thrown.

My attention was called away from this incident by an exclamation of Chane.

"Och! blood, turf, and murther! If there isn't that Frinch scoundhrel Dubrosc!"

I looked up. The man was standing over us.

"Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine!" cried he, in a sneering voice, "comment vous portez-vous? You came up dove-hunting—eh? The birds, you see, are not in the cot."

Had there been only a thread around my body, I could not have moved at that moment. I felt cold and rigid as marble. A thousand agonising thoughts crowded upon me at once—my doubts, my fears on her account, drowning all ideas of personal danger. I could have died at that moment, and without a groan, to have ensured her safety.

There was something so fiendish in the character of this man—a polished brutality, too—that caused me to fear the worst.

"Oh, heaven!" I muttered, "in the power of such a man!"

"Ho!" cried Dubrosc, advancing a pace or two, and seizing my horse by the bridle, "a splendid mount! An Arab, as I live! Look here, Yanez!" he continued, addressing a guerillero who accompanied him, "I claim this, if you have no objection."

"Take him," said the other, who was evidently the leader of the party.

"Thank you. And you, Monsieur le Capitaine," he added ironically, turning to me, "thank you for this handsome present. He will just replace my brave mustang, for whose loss I expect I am indebted to you, you great brute!—sacre!"

The last words were addressed to Lincoln; and, as though maddened by the memory of La Virgen, he approached the latter, and kicked him fiercely in the side.

The wanton foot had scarcely touched his ribs, when the hunter sprang up, as if by galvanic action, the thongs flying from his body in fifty spiral fragments. With a bound he leaped to his rifle; and, clutching it—he knew it was empty—struck the astonished Frenchman a blow upon the head. The latter fell heavily to the earth. In an instant a dozen knives and swords were aimed at the hunter's throat. Sweeping his rifle around him, he cleared an opening, and, dashing past his foes with a wild yell, bounded off through the shrubbery. The guerilleros followed, screaming with rage; and we could hear an occasional shot, as they continued the pursuit into the distant woods. Dubrosc was carried back into the rancho, apparently lifeless.

We were still wondering how our comrade had untied himself, when one of the guerilleros, lifting a piece of the thong, exclaimed:

"Carajo! ha cortado el briboncito!" (The little rascal has cut it!) and the man darted into the shrubbery in search of little Jack. It was with us a moment of fearful suspense. We expected to see poor Jack sacrificed instantly. We watched the man with intense emotion, as he ran to and fro.

At length he threw up his arms with a gesture of surprise, calling out at the same time:

"Por todos santos! se fue!" (By all the saints! he's gone!)

"Hurrah!" cried Chane; "holies!—such a gossoon as that boy!"

Several of the guerilleros dived into the thicket; but their search was in vain.

We were now separated, so that we could no longer converse, and were more strictly watched, two sentries standing over each of us. We spent about an hour in this way. Straggling parties at intervals came back from the pursuit, and we could gather, from what we overheard, that neither Lincoln nor Jack had yet been retaken.

We could hear talking in the rear of the rancho, and we felt that our fate was being determined upon. It was plain Dubrosc was not in command of the party. Had he been so, we should never have been carried beyond the olive-grove. It appeared we were to be hung elsewhere.

At length a movement was visible that betokened departure. Our horses were taken away, and saddled mules were led out in front of the rancho. Upon these we were set, and strapped tightly to the saddles. A serape was passed over each of us, and we were blinded by tapojos. A bugle then sounded the "forward". We could hear a confusion of noises, the prancing of many hoofs, and the next moment we felt ourselves moving along at a hurried pace through the woods.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A BLIND RIDE.

We rode all night. The mule-blinds, although preventing us from seeing a single object, proved to be an advantage. They saved our eyes and faces from the thorny claws of the acacia and mezquite. Without hands to fend them off, these would have torn us badly, as we could feel them, from time to time, penetrating even the hard leather of the tapojos. Our thongs chafed us, and we suffered great pain from the monotonous motion. Our road lay through thick woods. This we could perceive from the constant rustle of the leaves and the crackling of branches, as the cavalcade passed on.

Towards morning our route led over hills, steep and difficult, we could tell from the attitudes of our animals. We had passed the level plains, and were entering among the "foothills" of the Mexican mountains. There was no passing or repassing of one another. From this I concluded that we were journeying along a narrow road, and in single file.

Raoul was directly in front of me, and we could converse at times.

"Where do you think they are taking us, Raoul?" I inquired, speaking in French.

"To Cenobio's hacienda. I hope so, at least!"

"Why do you hope so?"

"Because we shall stand some chance for our lives. Cenobio is a noble fellow."

"You know him, then?"

"Yes, Captain; I have helped him a little in the contraband trade."

"A smuggler, is he?"

"Why, in this country it is hardly fair to call it by so harsh a name, as the Government itself dips out of the same dish. Smuggling here, as in most other countries, should be looked upon rather as the offspring of necessity and maladministration than as a vice in itself. Cenobio is a contrabandisto, and upon a large scale."

"And you are a political philosopher, Raoul!"

"Bah! Captain; it would be bad if I could not defend my own calling," replied my comrade, with a laugh.

"You think, then, that we are in the hands of Cenobio's men."

"I am sure of it, Captain. Sacre! had it been Jarauta's band, we would have been in heaven—that is, our souls—and our bodies would now be embellishing some of the trees upon Don Cosme's plantation. Heaven protect us from Jarauta! The robber-priest gives but short shrift to any of his enemies; but if he could lay his hands on your humble servant, you would see hanging done in double-quick time."

"Why think you we are with Cenobio's guerilla?"

"I know Yanez, whom we saw at the rancho. He is one of Cenobio's officers, and the leader of this party, which is only a detachment. I am rather surprised that he has brought us away, considering that Dubrosc is with him; there must have been some influence in our favour which I cannot understand."

I was struck by the remark, and began to reflect upon it in silence. The voice of the Frenchman again fell upon my ear.

"I cannot be mistaken. No—this hill—it runs down to the San Juan River."

Again, after a short interval, as we felt ourselves fording a stream, Raoul said:

"Yes, the San Juan—I know the stony bottom—just the depth, too, at this season."

Our mules plunged through the swift current, flinging the spray over our heads. We could feel the water up to the saddle-flaps, cold as ice; and yet we were journeying in the hot tropic. But we were fording a stream fed by the snows of Orizava.

"Now I am certain of the road," continued Raoul, after we had crossed. "I know this bank well. The mule slides. Look out, Captain."

"For what?" I asked, with some anxiety.

The Frenchman laughed as he replied:

"I believe I am taking leave of my senses. I called to you to look out, as if you had the power to help yourself in case the accident should occur."

"What accidents?" I inquired, with a nervous sense of some impending danger.

"Falling over: we are on a precipice that is reckoned dangerous on account of the clay; if your mule should stumble here, the first thing you would strike would be the branches of some trees five hundred feet below, or thereabout."

"Good heaven!" I ejaculated; "is it so?"

"Never fear, Captain; there is not much danger. These mules appear to be sure-footed; and certainly," he added, with a laugh, "their loads are well packed and tied."

I was in no condition just then to relish a joke, and my companion's humour was completely thrown away upon me. The thought of my mule missing his foot and tumbling over a precipice, while I was stuck to him like a centaur, was anything else than pleasant. I had heard of such accidents, and the knowledge did not make the reflection any easier. I could not help muttering to myself:

"Why, in the name of mischief, did the fellow tell me this till we had passed it?"

I crouched closer to the saddle, allowing my limbs to follow every motion of the animal, lest some counteracting shock might disturb our joint equilibrium. I could hear the torrent, as it roared and hissed far below, appearing directly under us; and the "sough" grew fainter and fainter as we ascended.

On we went, climbing up—up—up; our strong mules straining against the precipitous path. It was daybreak. There was a faint glimmer of light under our tapojos. At length we could perceive a brighter beam. We felt a sudden glow of heat over our bodies; the air seemed lighter; our mules walked on a horizontal path. We were on the ridge, and warmed by the beams of the rising sun.

"Thank heaven we have passed it!"

I could not help feeling thus: and yet perhaps we were riding to an ignominious death!



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

A DRINK A LA CHEVAL.

The guerilleros now halted and dismounted. We were left in our saddles. Our mules were picketed upon long lazos, and commenced browsing. They carried us under the thorny branches of the wild locust. The maguey, with its bill-shaped claws, had torn our uniform overalls to shreds. Our limbs were lacerated, and the cactus had lodged its poisoned prickles in our knees. But these were nothing to the pain of being compelled to keep our saddles, or rather saddle-trees—for we were upon the naked wood. Our hips ached intensely, and our limbs smarted under the chafing thong.

There was a crackling of fires around us. Our captors were cooking their breakfasts, and chattering gaily over their chocolate. Neither food nor drink was offered to us, although we were both thirsty and hungry. We were kept in this place for about an hour.

"They have joined another party here," said Raoul, "with pack-mules."

"How know you?" I inquired.

"I can tell by the shouts of the arrieros. Listen!—they are making ready to start."

There was a mingling of voices—exclamations addressed to their animals by the arrieros, such as:

"Mula! anda! vaya! levantate! carrai! mula—mulita!—anda!—st!—st!"

In the midst of this din I fancied that I heard the voice of a woman.

"Can it be—?"

The thought was too painful.

A bugle at length sounded, and we felt ourselves again moving onward.

Our road appeared to run along the naked ridge. There were no trees, and the heat became intense. Our serapes, that had served us during the night, should have been dispensed with now, had we been consulted in relation to the matter. I did not know, until some time after, why these blankets had been given to us, as they had been hitherto very useful in the cold. It was not from any anxiety in regard to our comfort, as I learned afterwards.

We began to suffer from thirst, and Raoul asked one of the guerilleros for water.

"Carajo!" answered the man, "it's no use: you'll be choked by and by with something else than thirst."

The brutal jest called forth a peal of laughter from his comrades.

About noon we commenced descending a long hill. I could hear the sound of water ahead.

"Where are we, Raoul?" I inquired faintly.

"Going down to a stream—a branch of the Antigua."

"We are coming to another precipice?" I asked, with some uneasiness, as the roar of the torrent began to be heard more under our feet, and I snuffed the cold air from below.

"There is one, Captain. There is a good road, though, and well paved."

"Paved! why, the country around is wild—is it not?"

"True; but the road was paved by the priests."

"By the priests!" I exclaimed with some astonishment.

"Yes, Captain; there's a convent in the valley, near the crossing; that is, there was one. It is now a ruin."

We crept slowly down, our mules at times seeming to walk on their heads. The hissing of the torrent grew gradually louder, until our ears were filled with its hoarse rushing.

I heard Raoul below me shouting some words in a warning voice, when suddenly he seemed borne away, as if he had been tumbled over the precipice.

I expected to feel myself next moment launched after him into empty space, when my mule, uttering a loud whinny, sprang forward and downward.

Down—down! the next leap into eternity! No—she keeps her feet! she gallops along a level path! I am safe!

I was swung about until the thongs seemed to cut through my limbs; and with a heavy plunge I felt myself carried thigh-deep into water.

Here the animal suddenly halted.

As soon as I could gain breath I shouted at the top of my voice for the Frenchman.

"Here, Captain!" he answered, close by my side, but, as I fancied, with a strange, gurgling voice.

"Are you hurt, Raoul?" I inquired.

"Hurt? No, Captain."

"What was it, then?"

"Oh! I wished to warn you, but I was too late. I might have known they would stampede, as the poor brutes have been no better treated than ourselves. Hear how they draw it up!"

"I am choking!" I exclaimed, listening to the water as it filtered through the teeth of my mule.

"Do as I do, Captain," said Raoul, speaking as if from the bottom of a well.

"How?" I asked.

"Bend down, and let the water run into your mouth."

This accounted for Raoul's voice sounding so strangely.

"They may not give us a drop," continued he. "It is our only chance."

"I have not even that," I replied, after having vainly endeavoured to reach the surface with my face.

"Why?" asked my comrade.

"I cannot reach it."

"How deep are you?"

"To the saddle-flaps."

"Ride this way, Captain. It's deeper here."

"How can I? My mule is her own master, as far as I am concerned."

"Parbleu!" said the Frenchman. "I did not think of that."

But, whether to oblige me, or moved by a desire to cool her flanks, the animal plunged forward into a deeper part of the stream.

After straining myself to the utmost, I was enabled to "duck" my head. In this painful position I contrived to get a couple of swallows; but I should think I took in quite as much at my nose and ears.

Clayley and Chane followed our example, the Irishman swearing loudly that it was a "burnin' shame to make a dacent Christyin dhrink like a horse in winkers."

Our guards now commenced driving our mules out of the water. As we were climbing the bank, someone touched me lightly upon the arm; and at the same instant a voice whispered in my ear, "Courage, Captain!"

I started—it was the voice of a female. I was about to reply, when a soft, small hand was thrust under the tapojo, and pushed something between my lips. The hand was immediately withdrawn, and I heard the voice urging a horse onward.

The clatter of hoofs, as of a horse passing me in a gallop, convinced me that this mysterious agent was gone, and I remained silent.

"Who can it be Jack? No. Jack has a soft voice—a small hand; but how could he be here, and with his hands free? No—no—no! Who then? It was certainly the voice of a woman—the hand, too. What other should have made this demonstration? I know no other—it must—it must have been—."

I continued my analysis of probabilities, always arriving at the same result. It was both pleasant and painful: pleasant to believe she was thus, like an angel, watching over me—painful to think that she might be in the power of my fiendish enemy.

But is she so? Lincoln's blow may have ended him. We have heard nothing of him since. Would to heaven—!

It was an impious wish, but I could not control it.

"What have I got between my lips? A slip of paper! Why was it placed there, and not in my bosom or my button-hole? Ha! there is more providence in the manner of the act than at first thought appears. How could I have taken it from either the one or the other, bound as I am? Moreover it may contain what would destroy the writer, if known to—. Cunning thought—for one so young and innocent, too—but love—."

I pressed the paper against the tapojo, covering it with my lips, so as to conceal it in case the blind should be removed.

"Halted again?"

"It is the ruin, Captain—the old convent of Santa Bernardina."

"But why do they halt here?"

"Likely to noon and breakfast—that on the ridge was only their desayuna. The Mexicans of the tierra caliente never travel during mid-day. They will doubtless rest here until the cool of the evening."

"I trust they will extend the same favour to us," said Clayley: "God knows we stand in need of rest. I'd give them three months' pay for an hour upon the treadmill, only to stretch my limbs."

"They will take us down, I think—not on our account, but to ease the mules. Poor brutes! they are no parties to this transaction."

Raoul's conjecture proved correct. We were taken out of our saddles, and, being carefully bound as before, we were hauled into a damp room, and flung down upon the floor. Our captors went out. A heavy door closed after them, and we could hear the regular footfall of a sentry on the stone pavement without. For the first time since our capture we were left alone. This my comrades tested by rolling themselves all over the floor of our prison to see if anyone was present with us. It was but a scant addition to our liberty; but we could converse freely, and that was something.

————————————————————————————————————

Note. Desayuna is a slight early meal.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

AN ODD WAY OF OPENING A LETTER.

"Has any of you heard of Dubrosc on the route?" I inquired of my comrades.

No; nothing had been heard of him since the escape of Lincoln.

"Faix, Captain," said the Irishman, "it's meself that thinks Mister Dubrosc won't throuble any ov us any more. It was a purty lick that same, ayquil to ould Donnybrook itself."

"It is not easy to kill a man with a single blow of a clubbed rifle," observed Clayley; "unless, indeed, the lock may have struck into his skull. But we are still living, and I think that is some evidence that the deserter is dead. By the way, how has the fellow obtained such influence as he appeared to have among them, and so soon, too?"

"I think, Lieutenant," replied Raoul, "Monsieur Dubrosc has been here before."

"Ha! say you so?" I inquired, with a feeling of anxiety.

"I remember, Captain, some story current at Vera Cruz, about a Creole having married or run away with a girl of good family there. I am almost certain Dubrosc was the name; but it was before my time, and I am unacquainted with the circumstances, I remember, however, that the fellow was a gambler, or something of the sort; and the occurrence made much noise in the country."

I listened with a sickening anxiety to every word of these details. There was a painful correspondence between them and what I already knew. The thought that this monster could be in any way connected with her was a disagreeable one. I questioned Raoul no further. Even could he have detailed every circumstance, I should have dreaded the relation.

Our conversation was interrupted by the creaking of a rusty hinge. The door opened, and several men entered. Our blinds were taken off, and, oh, how pleasant to look upon the light! The door had been closed again, and there was only one small grating, yet the slender beam through this was like the bright noonday sun. Two of the men carried earthen platters filled with frijoles, a single tortilla in each platter. They were placed near our heads, one for each of us.

"It's blissid kind of yez, gentlemen," said Chane; "but how are we goin' to ate it, if ye plaze?"

"The plague!" exclaimed Clayley; "do they expect us to lick this up without either hands, spoons, or knives?"

"Won't you allow us the use of our fingers?" asked Raoul, speaking to one of the guerilleros.

"No," replied the man gruffly.

"How do you expect us to eat, then?"

"With your mouths, as brutes should. What else?"

"Thank you, sir; you are very polite."

"If you don't choose that, you can leave it alone," added the Mexican, going out with his companions, and closing the door behind them.

"Thank you, gentlemen!" shouted the Frenchman after them, in a tone of subdued anger. "I won't please you so much as to leave it alone. By my word!" he continued, "we may be thankful—it's more than I expected from Yanez—that they've given us any. Something's in the wind." So saying, the speaker rolled himself on his breast, bringing his head to the dish.

"Och! the mane haythins!" cried Chane, following the example set by his comrade; "to make dacent men ate like brute bastes! Och! murder an' ouns!"

"Come, Captain; shall we feed?" asked Clayley.

"Go on. Do not wait for me," I replied.

Now was my time to read the note. I rolled myself under the grating, and, after several efforts, succeeded in gaining my feet. The window, which was not much larger than a pigeon-hole, widened inwards like the embrasure of a gun-battery. The lower slab was just the height of my chin; and upon this, after a good deal of dodging and lip-jugglery, I succeeded in spreading out the paper to its full extent.

"What on earth are you at, Captain?" inquired Cayley, who had watched my manoeuvres with some astonishment.

Raoul and the Irishman stopped their plate-licking and looked up.

"Hush! go on with your dinners—not a word!" I read as follows:

To-night your cords shall be cut, and you must escape as you best can afterwards. Do not take the road back, as you will be certain to be pursued in that direction; moreover, you run the risk of meeting other parties of the guerilla. Make for the National Road at San Juan or Manga de Clavo. Your posts are already advanced beyond these points. The Frenchman can easily guide you. Courage, Captain! Adieu!

P.S.—They waited for you. I had sent one to warn you; but he has either proved traitor or missed the road. Adieu! adieu!

"Good heavens!" I involuntarily exclaimed; "the man that Lincoln—."

I caught the paper into my lips again, and chewed it into a pulp, to avoid the danger of its falling into the hands of the guerilla.

I remained turning over its contents in my mind. I was struck with the masterly style—the worldly cunning exhibited by the writer. There was something almost unfeminine about it. I could not help being surprised that one so young, and hitherto so secluded from the world, should possess such a knowledge of men and things. I was already aware of the presence of a powerful intellect, but one, as I thought, altogether unacquainted with practical life and action. Then there was the peculiarity of her situation.

Is she a prisoner like myself? or is she disguised, and perilling her life to save mine? or can she be—Patience! To-night may unravel the mystery.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE COBRA-DI-CAPELLO.

Up to this moment my intention had been engrossed with the contents of the note, and I had no thought of looking outward. I raised myself on tiptoe, stretching my neck as far as I could into the embrasure.

A golden sunlight was pouring down upon broad, green leaves, where the palms grew wildly. Red vines hung in festoons, like curtains of scarlet satin. There were bands of purple and violet—the maroon-coloured morus, and the snowy flowers of the magnolia—a glittering opal. Orange-trees, with white, wax-like flowers, were bending under their golden globes. The broad plumes of the corozo palm curved gracefully over, their points trailing downwards, and without motion.

A clump of these grew near, their naked stems laced by a parasite of the lliana species, which rose from the earth, and, traversing diagonally, was lost in the feathery frondage above. These formed a canopy, underneath which, from tree to tree, three hammocks were extended. One was empty; the other two were occupied. The elliptical outlines, traceable through the gauzy network of Indian grass, proved that the occupants were females.

Their faces were turned from me. They lay motionless: they were asleep.

As I stood gazing upon this picture, the occupant of the nearest hammock awoke, and turning, with a low murmur upon her lips, again fell asleep. Her face was now towards me. My heart leaped, and my whole frame quivered with emotion. I recognised the features of Guadalupe Rosales.

One limb, cased in silk, had fallen over the selvage of her pendent couch, and hung negligently down. The small satin slipper had dropped off, and was lying on the ground. Her head rested upon a silken pillow, and a band of her long black hair, that had escaped from the comb, straggling over the cords of the hammock, trailed along the grass. Her bosom rose with a gentle heaving above the network as she breathed and slept.

My heart was full of mixed emotions—surprise, pleasure, love, pain. Yes, pain; for she could thus sleep—sleep sweetly, tranquilly—while I, within a few paces of her couch, was bound and brutally treated!

"Yes, she can sleep!" I muttered to myself, as my chagrin predominated in the tumult of emotions. "Ha! heavens!"

My attention was attracted from the sleeper to a fearful object. I had noticed a spiral-like appearance upon the lliana. It had caught my eye once or twice while looking at the sleeper; but I had not dwelt upon it, taking it for one vine twined round another—a peculiarity often met with in the forests of Mexico.

A bright sparkle now attracted my eye; and, on looking at the object attentively, I discovered, to my horror, that the spiral protuberance upon the vine was nothing else than the folds of a snake! Squeezing himself silently down the parasite—for he had come from above—the reptile slowly uncoiled two or three of the lowermost rings, and stretched his glistening neck horizontally over the hammock. Now, for the first time, I perceived the horned protuberance on his head, and recognised the dreaded reptile—the macaurel (the cobra of America).

In this position he remained for some moments, perfectly motionless, his neck proudly curved like that of a swan, while his head was not twelve inches from the face of the sleeper. I fancied that I could see the soft down upon her lip playing under his breath!

He now commenced slowly vibrating from side to side, while a low, hissing sound proceeded from his open jaws. His horns projected out, adding to the hideousness of his appearance; and at intervals his forked tongue shot forth, glancing in the sun like a purple diamond.

He appeared to be gloating over his victim, in the act of charming her to death. I even fancied that her lips moved, and her head began to stir backward and forward, following the oscillations of the reptile.

All this I witnessed without the power to move. My soul as well as my body was chained; but, even had I been free, I could have offered no help. I knew that the only hope of her safety lay in silence. Unless disturbed and angered, the snake might not bite; but was he not at that moment distilling some secret venom upon her lips?

"Oh, Heaven!" I gasped out, in the intensity of my fears, "is this the fiend himself? She moves!—now he will strike! Not yet—she is still again. Now—now!—mercy! she trembles!—the hammock shakes—she is quivering under the fascin— Ha!"

A shot rang from the walls—the snake suddenly jerked back his head—his rings flew out, and he fell to the earth, writhing as if in pain!

The girls started with a scream, and sprang simultaneously from their hammocks.

Grasping each other by the hand, with terrified looks they rushed from the spot and disappeared.

Several men ran up, ending the snake with their sabres. One of them stooped, and examining the carcase of the dead reptile, exclaimed:

"Carai! there is a hole in his head—he has been shot!"

A moment after, half a dozen of the guerilleros burst open the door and rushed in, crying out as they entered:

"Quien tira?" (Who fired?)

"What do you mean?" angrily asked Raoul, who had been in ill-humour ever since the guerillero had refused him a draught of water.

"I ask you who fired the shot?" repeated the man.

"Fired the shot!" echoed Raoul, knowing nothing of what had occurred outside. "We look like firing a shot, don't we? If I possessed that power, my gay friend, the first use I should make of it would be to send a bullet through that clumsy skull of yours."

"Santissima!" ejaculated the Mexican, with a look of astonishment. "It could not be these—they are all tied!"

And the Mexicans passed out again, leaving us to our reflections.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE HEAD-QUARTERS OF THE GUERILLA.

Mine were anything but agreeable. I was pained and puzzled. I was pained to think that she—dearer to me than life—was thus exposed to the dangers that surrounded us. It was her sister that had occupied the other hammock.

"Are they alone? Are they prisoners in the hands of these half-robbers? May not their hospitality to us have brought them under proscription? And are they not being carried—father, mother, and all—before some tribunal? Or are they travelling for protection with this band— protection against the less scrupulous robbers that infest the country?"

It was not uncommon upon the Rio Grande, when rich families journeyed from point to point, to pay for an escort of this sort. This may elucidate—.

"But I tell yez I did hear a crack; and, be my sowl! it was the sargint's rifle, or I've lost me sinses intirely."

"What is it?" I asked, attracted to the conversation of my comrades.

"Chane says he heard a shot, and thinks it was Lincoln's," answered Clayley.

"His gun has a quare sound, Captain," said the Irishman, appealing to me. "It's diffirint intirely from a Mexican piece, and not like our own nayther. It's a way he has in loadin' it."

"Well—what of that?"

"Why, Raowl says one of them axed him who fired. Now, I heerd a shot, for my ear was close till the door here. It was beyant like; but I cud swear upon the blissed crass it was ayther the sargint's rifle or another as like it as two pays."

"It is very strange!" I muttered, half in soliloquy, for the same thought had occurred to myself.

"I saw the boy, Captain," said Raoul; "I saw him crossing when they opened the door."

"The boy!—what boy?" I asked.

"The same we brought out of the town."

"Ha! Narcisso!—you saw him?"

"Yes; and, if I'm not mistaken, the white mule that the old gentleman rode to camp. I think that the family is with the guerilla, and that accounts for our being still alive."

A new light flashed upon me. In the incidents of the last twenty hours I had never once thought of Narcisso. Now all was clear—clear as daylight. The zambo whom Lincoln had killed—poor victim!—was our friend, sent to warn us of danger; the dagger, Narcisso's—a token for us to trust him. The soft voice—the small hand thrust under the tapojo—yes, all were Narcisso's!

A web of mystery was torn to shreds in a single moment. The truth did not yield gratification. No—but the contrary. I was chagrined at the indifference exhibited in another quarter.

"She must know that I am here, since her brother is master of the fact— here, bleeding and bound. Yet where is her sympathy? She sleeps! She journeys within a few paces of me, where I am tied painfully; yet not a word of consolation. No! She is riding upon her soft cushion, or carried upon a litera, escorted, perhaps, by this accomplished villain, who plays the gallant cavalier upon my own barb! They converse together, perhaps of the poor captives in their train, and with jest and ridicule—he at least; and she can hear it, and then fling herself into her soft hammock and sleep—sleep sweetly—calmly?"

These bitter reflections were interrupted. The door creaked once more upon its hinges. Half a dozen of our captors entered. Our blinds were put on, and we were carried out and mounted as before.

In a few minutes a bugle rang out, and the route was resumed.

We were carried up the stream bottom—a kind of glen, or Canada. We could feel by the cool shade and the echoes that we were travelling under heavy timber. The torrent roared in our ears, and the sound was not unpleasant. Twice or thrice we forded the stream, and sometimes left it, returning after having travelled a mile or so. This was to avoid the canons, where there is no path by the water. We then ascended a long hill, and after reaching its summit commenced going downwards.

"I know this road well," said Raoul. "We are going down to the hacienda of Cenobio."

"Pardieu!" he continued. "I ought to know this hill!"

"For what reason?"

"First, Captain, because I have carried many a bulto of cochineal and many a bale of smuggled tobacco over it; ay, and upon nights when my eyes were of as little service to me as they are at present."

"I thought that you contrabandistas hardly needed the precaution of dark nights?"

"True, at times; but there were other times when the Government became lynx-eyed, and then smuggling was no joke. We had some sharp skirmishing. Sacre! I have good cause to remember this very hill. I came near making a jump into purgatory from the other side of it."

"Ha! how was that?"

"Cenobio had got a large lot of cochineal from a crafty trader at Oaxaca. It was cached about two leagues from the hacienda in the hills, and a vessel was to drop into the mouth of the Medellin to take it on board.

"A party of us were engaged to carry it across to the coast; and, as the cargo was very valuable, we were all of us armed to the teeth, with orders from the patrone to defend it at all hazards. His men were just the fellows who would obey that order, coming, as it did, from Cenobio.

"The Government somehow or other got wind of the affair, and slipped a strong detachment out of Vera Cruz in time to intercept us. We met them on the other side of this very hill, where a road strikes off towards Medellin."

"Well! and what followed?"

"Why, the battle lasted nearly an hour; and, after having lost half a score of their best men, the valiant lancers rode back to Vera Cruz quicker than they came out of it."

"And the smugglers?"

"Carried the goods safe on board. Three of them—poor fellows!—are lying not far off, and I came near sharing their luck. I have a lance-hole through my thigh, here, that pains me at this very moment."

My ear at this moment caught the sound of dogs barking hoarsely below. Horses of the cavalcade commenced neighing, answered by others from the adjacent fields, who recognised their old companions.

"It must be near night," I remarked to Raoul.

"I think, about sunset, Captain," rejoined he. "It feels about that time."

I could not help smiling. There was something ludicrous in my comrade's remark about "feeling" the sunset.

The barking of the dogs now ceased, and we could hear voices ahead welcoming the guerilleros.

The hoofs of our mules struck upon a hard pavement, and the sounds echoed as if under an arched way.

Our animals were presently halted, and we were unpacked and flung rudely down upon rough stones, like so many bundles of merchandise.

We lay for some minutes listening to the strange voices around. The neighing of horses, the barking and growling of dogs, the lowing of cattle, the shouts of the arrieros unpacking their mules, the clanking of sabres along the stone pavement, the tinkling of spurs, the laughter of men, and the voices of women—all were in our ears at once.

Two men approached us, conversing.

"They are of the party that escaped us at La Virgen. Two of them are officers."

"Chingaro! I got this at La Virgen, and a full half-mile off. 'Twas some black jugglery in their bullets. I hope the patrone will hang the Yankee savages."

"Quien sabe?" (Who knows?) replied the first speaker. "Pinzon has been taken this morning at Puenta Moreno, with several others. They had a fandango with the Yankee dragoons. You know what the old man thinks of Pinzon. He'd sooner part with his wife."

"You think he will exchange them, then?"

"It is not unlikely."

"And yet he wouldn't trouble much if you or I had been taken. No—no; he'd let us be hanged like dogs!"

"Well; that's always the way, you know."

"I begin to get tired of him. By the Virgin! Jose, I've half a mind to slip off and join the Padre."

"Jarauta?"

"Yes; he's by the Bridge, with a brave set of Jarochos—some of our old comrades upon the Rio Grande among them. They are living at free quarters along the road, and having gay times of it, I hear. If Jarauta had taken these Yankees yesterday, the zopilote would have made his dinner upon them to-day."

"That's true," rejoined the other; "but come—let us un-blind the devils and give them their beans. It may be the last they'll ever eat."

With this consoling remark, Jose commenced unbuckling our tapojos, and we once more looked upon the light. The brilliance at first dazzled us painfully, and it was some minutes before we could look steadily at the objects around us.

We had been thrown upon the pavement in the corner of the patio—a large court, surrounded by massive walls and flat-roofed houses.

These buildings were low, single-storied, except the range in front, which contained the principal dwellings. The remaining three sides were occupied by stables, granaries, and quarters for the guerilleros and servants. A portale extended along the front range, and large vases, with shrubs and flowers, ornamented the balustrade. The portale was screened from the sun by curtains of bright-coloured cloth. These were partially drawn, and objects of elegant furniture appeared within.

Near the centre of the patio was a large fountain, boiling up into a reservoir of hewn mason-work; and around this fountain were clumps of orange-trees, their leaves in some places dropping down into the water. Various arms hung or leaned against the walls—guns, pistols, and sabres—and two small pieces of cannon, with their caissons and carriages, stood in a prominent position. In these we recognised our old acquaintances of La Virgen.

A long trough stretched across the patio, and out of this a double row of mules and mustangs were greedily eating maize. The saddle-tracks upon their steaming sides showed them to be the companions of our late wearisome journey.

Huge dogs lay basking upon the hot stones, growling at intervals as someone galloped in through the great doorway. Their broad jaws and tawny hides bespoke the Spanish bloodhound—the descendants of that race with which Cortez had harried the conquered Aztecs.

The guerilleros were seated or standing in groups around the fires, broiling jerked beef upon the points of their sabres. Some mended their saddles, or were wiping out an old carbine or a clumsy escopette. Some strutted around the yard, swinging their bright mangas, or trailing after them the picturesque serape. Women in rebozos and coloured skirts walked to and fro among the men.

The women carried jars filled with water. They knelt before smooth stones, and kneaded tortillas. They stirred chile and chocolate in earthen ollas. They cooked frijoles in flat pans; and amidst all these occupations they joked and laughed and chatted with the men.

Several men—officers, from their style of dress—came out of the portale, and, after delivering orders to the guerilleros on guard, returned to the house.

Packages of what appeared to be merchandise lay in one corner of the court. Around this were groups of arrieros, in their red leathern garments, securing their charge for the night, and laying out their alparejas in long rows by the wall.

Over the opposite roofs—for our position was elevated—we could see the bright fields and forest, and far beyond, the Cofre de Perote and the undulating outlines of the Andes. Above all, the white-robed peak of Orizava rose up against the heavens like a pyramid of spotless snow.

The sun had gone down behind the mountains, but his rays still rested upon Orizava, bathing its cone with a yellow light, like a mantle of burnished gold. Clouds of red and white and purple hung like a glory upon his track, and, descending, rested upon the lower summits of the Cordillera. The peak of the "Burning Star" alone appeared above the clouds, towering in sublime and solitary grandeur.

There was a picturesque loveliness about the scene—an idea of sublimity—that caused me for the moment to forget where I was or that I was a captive. My dream was dispelled by the harsh voice of Jose, who at that moment came up with a couple of peons, carrying a large earthen dish that contained our supper.

This consisted of black beans, with half a dozen tortillas; but as we were all half-famished we did not offer any criticism on the quality of the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks, nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fashion of "eating our spoons", and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed "right ahead."



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

CHANE'S COURTSHIP.

The dish was emptied, as Clayley observed, in a "squirrel's jump."

"Be my sowl! it ates purty well, black as it is," said Chane, looking ruefully into the empty vessel. "It's got a worse complaint than the colour, didn't yez fetch us a thrifle more of it, my darlint boy?" he added, squinting up at Jose.

"No entiende," (Don't understand), said the Mexican, shaking his head.

"No in tin days!" cried Chane, mistaking the "no entiende" for a phrase of broken English, to which, indeed, its pronunciation somewhat assimilates it. "Och! git out wid you! Bad luck to yer picther! In tin days it's Murtagh Chane that'll ayther be takin' his tay in purgathory or atin' betther than black banes in some other part of the world."

"No entiende," repeated the Mexican as before.

"Tin days, indade! Sure we'd be did wid hunger in half the time. We want the banes now."

"Que quiere?" (What do you want?) asked the Mexican, speaking to Raoul, who was by this time convulsed with laughter.

"Phwhat's that he sez, Raowl?" inquired Chane sharply.

"He says he don't understand you."

"Thin spake to him yerself, Raowl. Till him we want more banes, and a few more ov thim pancakes, if he plazes."

Raoul translated the Irishman's request.

"No hay" (There are none), answered the Mexican, shaking his forefinger in front of his nose.

"No I—is that phwhat ye say, my darlint? Well, iv yez won't go yerself, sind somebody else; it's all the same thing, so yez bring us the ateables."

"No entiende" said the man, with the same shake of the head.

"Oh! there agin with your tin days—but it's no use; yez understand me well enough, but yez don't want to bring the banes."

"He tells you there is no more," said Raoul.

"Oh! the desavin' Judas! and five hundred ov thim grazers atin' over beyant there. No more banes! oh, the lie!"

"Frijoles—no hay," said the Mexican, guessing at the purport of Chane's remarks.

"Fray holeys!" repeated Chane, imitating the Mexican's pronunciation of the word "frijoles". "Och! git out wid your fray holeys! There isn't the size of a flay of holiness about the place. Git out!"

Raoul, and indeed all of us except the Irishman himself, were bursting with laughter.

"I'm chokin'," said the latter, after a pause; "ask him for wather, Raowl—sure he can't deny that, with that purty little sthrame boilin' up undher our noses, as clear as the potteen of Ennishowen."

Raoul asked for water, which we all needed. Our throats were as dry as charcoal. The Mexican made a sign to one of the women, who shortly came up with an earthen jar filled with water.

"Give it first to the captin, misthress," said Chane, pointing to me; "sarve all ayqually, but respict rank."

The woman understood the sign, and handed me the jar. I drank copiously, passing it to my comrades, Clayley and Raoul. Chane at length took the jar; but instead of drinking immediately, as might have been expected, he set it between his knees and looked quizzically up at the woman.

"I say, my little darlint," said he, winking, and touching her lightly under the ribs with his outstretched palm, "my little moochacha— that's what they call thim—isn't it, Raowl?"

"Muchacha? oh yes!"

"Well, thin, my purty little moochacha, cudn't yez?—ye know what I mane—cudn't yez? Och! ye know well enough—only a little—jist a mouthful to take the cowld taste aff the wather."

"No entiende," said the woman, smiling good-naturedly at Chane's comical gestures.

"Och, the plague! there's that tin days agin. Talk to her, Raowl. Tell her what I mane."

Raoul translated his comrade's wishes.

"Tell her, Raowl, I've got no money, becase I have been rabbed, de ye see? but I'll give her ayther of these saints for the smallest thrifle of agwardent;" and he pulled the images out of his jacket as he spoke.

The woman, seeing these, bent forward with an exclamation; and, recognising the crucifix, with the images of the saint and Virgin, dropped upon her knees and kissed them devoutly, uttering some words in a language half Spanish, half Aztec.

Rising up, she looked kindly at Chane, exclaiming, "Bueno Catolico!" She then tossed the rebozo over her left shoulder, and hurried off across the yard.

"De yez think, Raowl, she's gone after the licker?"

"I am sure of it," answered the Frenchman.

In a few minutes the woman returned, and, drawing a small flask out of the folds of her rebozo, handed it to Chane.

The Irishman commenced undoing the string that carried his "relics."

"Which ov them de yez want, misthress?—the saint, or the Howly Mother, or both?—it's all the same to Murtagh."

The woman, observing what he was after, rushed forward, and, placing her hands upon his, said in a kind tone:

"No, Senor. Su proteccion necesita usted."

"Phwhat diz she say, Raowl?"

"She says, keep them; you will need their protection yourself."

"Och, be me sowl! she's not far asthray there. I need it bad enough now, an' a hape ov good they're likely to do me. They've hung there for tin years—both of thim; and this nate little flask's the first raal binifit I iver resaved from ayther of them. Thry it, Captin. It'll do yez good."

I took the bottle and drank. It was the chingarito—a bad species of aguardiente from the wild aloe—and hot as fire. A mouthful sufficed. I handed the flask to Clayley, who drank more freely. Raoul followed suit, and the bottle came back to the Irishman.

"Your hilth, darlint!" said he, nodding to the Mexican woman. "May yez live till I wish ye dead!"

The woman smiled, and repeated, "No entiende."

"Och! nivir mind the tin days—we won't quarrel about that. Ye're a swate crayteur," continued he, winking at the woman; "but sure yer petticoats is mighty short, an' yez want a pair of stockin's bad, too; but nivir mind—yez stand well upon thim illigant ankles—'dade ye do; and yez have a purty little futt into the bargain."

"Que dice?" (What does he say?) asked the Mexican, speaking to Raoul.

"He is complimenting you on the smallness of your feet," answered the Frenchman.

The woman was evidently pleased, and commenced cramping up what was in fact a very small foot into its faded satin slipper.

"Tell me, my dear," continued Chane, "are yez married?"

"Que dice?" again asked the woman.

"He wants to know if you are married."

She smiled, waving her forefinger in front of her nose.

Raoul informed the Irishman that this was a negative answer to his question.

"By my sowl, thin," said Chane, "I wudn't mind marryin' ye meself, an' joinin' the thribe—that is, if they'll let me off from the hangin'. Tell her that, Raowl."

As desired, Raoul explained his comrade's last speech, at which the woman laughed, but said nothing.

"Silence gives consint. But tell her, Raowl, that I won't buy a pig in a poke: they must first let me off from the hangin', de ye hear?—tell her that."

"El senor esta muy alegre," (The gentleman is very merry), said the woman; and, picking up her jar, with a smile, she left us.

"I say, Raowl, does she consint?"

"She hasn't made up her mind yet."

"By the holy vistment! thin it's all up wid Murt. The saints won't save him. Take another dhrap, Raowl!"



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE DANCE OF THE TAGAROTA.

Night fell, and the blazing fagots threw their glare over the patio, striking upon objects picturesque at all times, but doubly so under the red light of the pine fires. The grouping of guerilleros—their broad, heavy hats, many of them plumed—their long black hair and pointed beards—their dark, flashing eyes—their teeth, fierce and white—the half-savage expression of their features—their costumes, high-coloured and wild-like—all combined in impressing us with strange feelings.

The mules, the mustangs, the dogs, the peons, the slippered wenches, with their coarse trailing tresses, the low roofs, the iron-barred windows, the orange-trees by the fountain, the palms hanging over the wall, the glistening cocuyos, were all strange sights to us.

The sounds that rang in our ears were not more familiar. Even the voices of the men, unlike the Saxon, sounded wild and sharp. It was the Spanish language, spoken in the patois of the Aztec Indians. In this the guerilleros chatted, and sang, and swore. There was a medley of other sounds, not less strange to our ears, as the dogs howled and barked their bloodhound notes—as the mustangs neighed or the mules whinnied—as the heavy sabre clanked or the huge spur tinkled its tiny bells—as the poblanas (peasant-women), sitting by some group, touched the strings of their bandolons, and chanted their half-Indian songs.

By a blazing pile, close to where we sat, a party of guerilleros, with their women, were dancing the tagarota, a species of fandango.

Two men, seated upon raw-hide stools, strummed away upon a pair of bandolons, while a third pinched and pulled at the strings of an old guitar—all three aiding the music with their shrill, disagreeable voices.

The dancers formed the figure of a parallelogram, each standing opposite his partner, or rather moving, for they were never at rest, but kept constantly beating time with feet, head, and hands. The last they struck against their cheeks and thighs, and at intervals clapped them together.

One would suddenly appear as a hunchback, and, dancing out into the centre of the figure, perform various antics to attract his partner. After a while she would dance up—deformed also—and the two, bringing their bodies into contact, and performing various disgusting contortions, would give place to another pair. These would appear without arms or legs, walking on their knees, or sliding along on their hips!

One danced with his head under his arm, and another with one leg around his neck; all eliciting more or less laughter, as the feat was more or less comical. During the dance every species of deformity was imitated and caricatured, for this is the tagarota. It was a series of grotesque and repulsive pictures. Some of the dancers, flinging themselves flat, would roll across the open space without moving hand or foot. This always elicited applause, and we could not help remarking its resemblance to the gymnastics we had lately been practising ourselves.

"Och, be me sowl! we can bate yez at that!" cried Chane, who appeared to be highly amused at the tagarota, making his comments as the dance went on.

I was sick of the scene, and watched it no longer. My eyes turned to the portale, and I looked anxiously through the half-drawn curtains.

"It is strange I have seen nothing of them! Could they have turned off on some other route? No—they must be here. Narcisso's promise for to-night! He at least is here. And she?—perhaps occupied within—gay, happy, indifferent—oh!"

The pain shot afresh through my heart.

Suddenly the curtain was drawn aside, and a brilliant picture appeared within—brilliant, but to me like the glimpse which some condemned spirit might catch over the walls of Paradise. Officers in bright uniforms, and amongst these I recognised the elegant person of Dubrosc. Ladies in rich dresses, and amongst these—. Her sister, too, was there, and the Dona Joaquiana, and half a dozen other ladies, rustling in silks and blazing with jewels.

Several of the gentlemen—young officers of the band—wore the picturesque costume of the guerilleros.

They were forming for the dance.

"Look, Captain!" cried Clayley; "Don Cosme and his people, by the living earthquake!"

"Hush! do not touch me—do not speak to me!"

I felt as though my heart would stop beating. It rose in my bosom, and seemed to hang for minutes without moving. My throat felt dry and husky, and a cold perspiration broke out upon my skin.

He approaches her—he asks her to dance—she consents! No: she refuses. Brave girl! She has strayed away from the dancers, and looks over the balustrade. She is sad. Was it a sigh that caused her bosom to rise? Ha! he comes again. She is smiling!—he touches her hand!

"Fiend! false woman!" I shouted at the top of my voice as I sprang up, impelled by passion. I attempted to rush towards them. My feet were bound, and I fell heavily upon my face!

The guards seized me, tying my hands. My comrades, too, were re-bound. We were dragged over the stones into a small room in one corner of the patio.

The door was bolted and locked, and we were left alone.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

A KISS IN THE DARK.

It would be impossible to describe my feelings as I was flung upon the floor of our prison. This was cold, damp, and filthy; but I heeded not these grievances. Greater sorrows absorbed the less. There is no torture so racking, no pain so painful as the throbbings of a jealous heart; but how much harder to bear under circumstances like mine! She could sleep, smile, dance—dance by my prison, and with my jailer!

I felt spiteful—vengeful. I was stung to a desire for retaliation, and along with this came an eagerness to live for the opportunity of indulging in this passion.

I began to look around our prison, and see what chances it afforded for escape.

"Good heavens! if our being transferred to the cell should destroy the plans of Narcisso! How is he to reach us? The door is double-locked, and a sentry is pacing without."

After several painful efforts I raised myself upon my feet, propping my body against the side of the prison. There was an aperture—a window about as large as a loophole for musketry. I spun myself along the wall until I stood directly under it. It was just the height of my chin. Cautioning my companions to silence, I placed my ear to the aperture and listened. A low sound came wailing from the fields without. I did not heed this. I knew it was the wolf. It rose again, louder than before. A peculiarity in the howl struck me, and I turned, calling to Raoul.

"What is it, Captain?" inquired he.

"Do you know if the prairie wolf is found here?"

"I do not know if it be the true prairie wolf, Captain. There is one something like the coyote."

I returned to the aperture and listened.

"Again the howl of the prairie wolf—the bark! By heavens! it is Lincoln!"

Now it ceased for several minutes, and then came again, but from another direction.

"What is to be done? if I answer him, it will alarm the sentry. I will wait until he comes closer to the wall."

I could tell that he was creeping nearer and nearer.

Finding he had not been answered, the howling ceased. I stood listening eagerly to every sound from without. My comrades, who had now become apprised of Lincoln's proximity, had risen to their feet and were leaning against the walls.

We were about half an hour in this situation, without exchanging a word, when a light tap was heard from without, and a soft voice whispered:

"Hola, Capitan!"

I placed my ear to the aperture. The whisper was repeated. It was not Lincoln—that was clear.

It must be Narcisso.

"Quien?" I asked.

"Yo, Capitan."

I recognised the voice that had addressed me in the morning.

It is Narcisso.

"Can you place your hands in the aperture?" said he.

"No; they are tied behind my back."

"Can you bring them opposite, then?"

"No; I am standing on my toes, and my wrists are still far below the sill."

"Are your comrades all similarly bound?"

"All."

"Let one get on each side of you, and raise you up on their shoulders."

Wondering at the astuteness of the young Spaniard, I ordered Chane and Raoul to lift me as he directed.

When my wrists came opposite the window I cautioned them to hold on. Presently a soft hand touched mine, passing all over them. Then I felt the blade of a knife pressed against the thong, and in an instant it leaped from my wrists. I ordered the men to set me down, and I listened as before.

"Here is the knife. You can release your own ankles and those of your comrades. This paper will direct you further. You will find the lamp inside."

A knife, with a folded and strangely shining note, was passed through by the speaker.

"And now, Capitan—one favour," continued the voice, in a trembling tone.

"Ask it! ask it!"

"I would kiss your hand before we part."

"Dear, noble boy!" cried I, thrusting my hand into the aperture.

"Boy! ah, true—you think me a boy. I am no boy, Capitan, but a woman—one who loves you with all her blighted, broken heart!"

"Oh, heavens! It is, then—dearest Guadalupe!"

"Ha! I thought as much. Now I will not. But no; what good would it be to me? No—no—no! I shall keep my word."

This appeared to be uttered in soliloquy, and the tumult of my thoughts prevented me from noticing the strangeness of these expressions. I thought of them afterwards.

"Your hand! your hand!" I ejaculated.

"You would kiss my hand? Do so!" The little hand was thrust through, and I could see it in the dim light, flashing with brilliants. I caught it in mine, covering it with kisses. It seemed to yield to the fervid pressure of my lips.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, in the transport of my feelings, "let us not part; let us fly together! I was wronging you, loveliest, dearest Guadalupe—!"

A slight exclamation, as if from some painful emotion, and the hand was plucked away, leaving one of the diamonds in my fingers. The next moment the voice whispered, with a strange sadness of tone, as I thought:

"Adieu, Capitan! adieu! In this world of life we never know who best loves us!"

I was puzzled, bewildered. I called out, but there was no answer. I listened until the patience of my comrades was well-nigh exhausted, but still there was no voice from without; and with a strange feeling of uneasiness and wonderment I commenced cutting the thongs from my ankles.

Having set Raoul at liberty, I handed him the knife, and proceeded to open the note. Inside I found a cocuyo; and, using it as I had been already instructed, I read:

"The walls are adobe. You have a knife. The side with the loop-hole fronts outward. There is a field of magueys, and beyond this you will find the forest. You may then trust to yourselves. I can help you no farther. Carissimo caballero, adios!"

I had no time to reflect upon the peculiarities of the note, though the boldness of the style struck me as corresponding with the other. I flung down the firefly, crushing the paper into my bosom; and, seizing the knife, was about to attack the adobe wall, when voices reached me from without. I sprang forward, and placed my ear to listen. It was an altercation—a woman—a man! "By heaven! it is Lincoln's voice!"

"Yer cussed whelp! ye'd see the cap'n hung, would yer?—a man that's good vally for the full of a pararer of green-gutted greasers; but I ain't a-gwine to let you look at his hangin'. If yer don't show me which of these hyur pigeon-holes is his'n, an' help me to get him outer it, I'll skin yer like a mink!"

"I tell you, Mister Lincoln," replied a voice which I recognised as the one whose owner had just left me, "I have this minute given the captain the means of escape, through that loophole."

"Whar!"

"This one," answered the female voice.

"Wal, that's easy to circumstantiate. Kum along hyur! I ain't a-gwine to let yer go till it's all fixed. De ye hear?"

I heard the heavy foot of the hunter as he approached, and presently his voice calling through the loophole in a guarded whisper:

"Cap'n!"

"Hush, Bob! it's all right," I replied, speaking in a low tone, for the sentries were moving suspiciously around the door.

"Good!" ejaculated he. "Yer kin go now," he added to the other, whose attention I endeavoured to attract, but dared not call to loud enough, lest the guards should hear me. "Dash my buttons! I don't want yer to go—yer a good 'un arter all. Why can't yer kum along? The cap'n 'll make it all straight agin about the desartion."

"Mr Lincoln, I cannot go with you. Please suffer me to depart!"

"Wal! yer own likes! but if I can do yer a good turn, you can depend on Bob Linkin—mind that."

"Thank you! thank you!"

And before I could interfere to prevent it, she was gone. I could hear the voice, sad and sweet in the distance, calling back, "Adios!"

I had no time for reflection, else the mystery that surrounded me would have occupied my thoughts for hours. It was time to act. Again I heard Lincoln's voice at the loophole.

"What is it?" I inquired.

"How are yer ter get out, Cap'n?"

"We are cutting a hole through the wall."

"If yer can give me the spot, I'll meet yer half-ways."

I measured the distance from the loophole, and handed the string to Lincoln. We heard no more from the hunter until the moonlight glanced through the wall upon the blade of his knife. Then he uttered a short ejaculation, such as may be heard from the "mountain men" at peculiar crises; and after that we could hear him exclaiming:

"Look out, Rowl! Hang it, man! ye're a-cuttin' my claws!"

In a few minutes the hole was large enough to pass our bodies; and one by one we crawled out, and were once more at liberty.



CHAPTER FORTY.

MARIA DE MERCED.

There was a deep ditch under the wall, filled with cactus-plants and dry grass. We lay in the bottom of this for some minutes, panting with fatigue. Our limbs were stiff and swollen, and we could hardly stand upright. A little delay then was necessary, to bring back the blood and determine our future course.

"We had best ter keep the gully," whispered Lincoln. "I kum across the fields myself, but that 'ar kiver's thin, and they may sight us."

"The best route is the ditch," assented Raoul: "there are some windows, but they are high, and we can crawl under them."

"Forward, then!" I whispered to Raoul.

We crept down the ditch on all-fours, passing several windows that were dark and shut. We reached one, the last in the row, where the light streamed through. Notwithstanding our perilous situation, I resolved to look in. There was an impulse upon me which I could not resist. I was yearning for some clue to the mystery that hung around me.

The window was high up, but it was grated with heavy bars; and, grasping two of these, I swung myself to its level. Meanwhile my comrades had crept into the magueys to wait for me.

I raised my head cautiously and looked in. It was a room somewhat elegantly furnished, but my eye did not dwell long on that. A man sitting by the table engrossed my attention. This man was Dubrosc. The light was full upon his face, and I gazed upon its hated lines until I felt my frame trembling with passion.

I can give no idea of the hate this man had inspired me with. Had I possessed firearms, I could not have restrained myself from shooting him; and but for the iron grating, I should have sprung through the sash and grappled him with my hands. I have thought since that some providence held me back from making a demonstration that would have baffled our escape. I am sure at that moment I possessed no restraint within myself.

As I gazed at Dubrosc, the door of the apartment opened, and a young man entered. He was strangely attired, in a costume half-military, half-ranchero. There was a fineness, a silky richness, about the dress and manner of this youth that struck me. His features were dark and beautiful.

He advanced and sat down by the table, placing his hand upon it. Several rings sparkled upon his fingers. I observed that he was pale, and that his hand trembled.

After looking at him for a moment, I began to fancy I had seen the features before. It was not Narcisso; him I should have known; and yet there was a resemblance. Yes—he even resembled her! I started as this thought crossed me. I strained my eyes; the resemblance grew stronger.

Oh, Heaven! could it be?—dressed thus? No, no! those eyes—ha! I remember! The boy at the rendezvous—on board the transport—the island—the picture! It is she—the cousin—Maria de Merced!

These recollections came with the suddenness of a single thought, and passed as quickly. Later memories crowded upon me. The adventure of the morning—the strange words uttered at the window of my prison—the small hand! This, then, was the author of our deliverance.

A hundred mysteries were explained in a single moment. The unexpected elucidation came like a shock—like a sudden light. I staggered back, giving way to new and singular emotions.

"Guadalupe knows nothing of my presence, then. She is innocent."

This thought alone restored me to happiness. A thousand others rushed through my brain in quick succession—some pleasant, others painful.

There was an altercation of voices over my head. I caught the iron rods, and, resting my toes upon a high bank, swung my body up, and again looked into the room. Dubrosc was now angrily pacing over the floor.

"Bah!" he ejaculated, with a look of cold brutality; "you think to make me jealous, I believe. That isn't possible. I was never so, and you can't do it. I know you love the cursed Yankee. I watched you in the ship—on the island, too. You had better keep him company where he is going. Ha, ha! Jealous, indeed! Your pretty cousins have grown up since I saw them last."

The insinuation sent the blood in a hot stream through my veins.

It appeared to have a similar effect upon the woman; for, starting from her seat, she looked towards Dubrosc, her eyes flashing like globes of fire.

"Yes!" she exclaimed; "and if you dare whisper your polluting thoughts to either of them, lawless as is this land, you know that I still possess the power to punish you. You are villain enough, Heaven knows, for anything; but they shall not fall: one victim is enough— and such a one!"